


Stolen Dance

by theonetheonlyalexthemonarch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Based on a song, Denial, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Worry, avoiding issues that should not be avoided, but he cares, decidedly not moving on, i don't know how well it turned out, i hope there's no typos, i tried to move away from typical fanon loki to more canon loki but, i'm very tired and this is depressing, it's real late and i have a migraine, loki is a bad person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 03:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch/pseuds/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch
Summary: He really wishes that you'd just move on.





	Stolen Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "Stolen Dance" by Milky Chance.
> 
> Warnings include: alcohol, drugs, depression, dependency, mentions of murder (I think, it's really late and I just want to get this posted), steadfast avoidance of issues, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.
> 
> Takes place when Loki's in prison in Thor: The Dark World.
> 
> I am sorry for the angst. Please go find something fluffy to help you out after this.

“I love you, babe,” you told him. He didn’t look up from his book and sighed heavily.

 

You hadn’t left his cell in three days, and honestly, it was sort of sad at this point.

 

...

 

“You need to get over this,” he told you, time and time again. “I’m stuck in here. I’m not getting out. You need to accept that.”

 

You looked up at him, face flushed with alcohol and eyes wet with fat, drunken tears.

 

“You need to leave.”

 

“But,” you said, hiccupping and sniffling. “But I need you. I can’t be alone again. I need to be near you.”

 

…

 

“I can’t believe they would do this to you,” you said angrily at one point, when you were far more sober than you were now, but still quite drunk. “This- this is bullshit. Fuck this. What the fuck is this.”

 

“This is how the criminal justice system works,” he said, rolling his eyes and returning his attention to the book in his hands.

 

“They used to be so kind,” your voice had softened quite a bit. “Is this kind? Is this their idea of kindness and love? You don’t deserve this.”

 

He snapped his book shut and stared at you, a bored expression on his face.

 

“I literally terrorized a whole civilization that was weaker than my own so I could overthrow their society and become their new ruler,” he told you, “and I  _ failed _ and was  _ caught. _ Of course I deserve this.”

 

“I can’t believe they took you away from me,” you said, eyes glazing over. “You don’t deserve this.”

 

“Are you listening to me? Have you listened to me at any point since I returned? I don’t regret what I did. I did a terrible thing and  _ I don’t regret it. _ The sooner you understand that, the sooner you’ll be able to move on. Which you desperately need to do.”

 

“They took you away from me. They took you away.”

 

Seeing that this was going nowhere, he opened his book again and let you ramble some more.

 

…

 

“You don’t actually think you’re a bad person, do you?” You asked. Your head was in his lap and he stroked your hair absentmindedly while reading. You answered your own question, laughing. “No, of course you don’t. You know you’re not a bad person. You know that. What am I saying.”

 

He didn’t respond.

 

“Even if they got you up here,” you gestured vaguely toward his head. “They’ll never get you here.” You poked him in the chest. “Never. You’re too strong.”

 

He snorted softly, but said nothing.

 

…

 

“We- we need to make up for lost time,” you suggested, very, very drunkenly. “The time they took from us. We need to take it back. We need to be together.”

 

“You need to get out of here and sleep and not come back.”

 

“They took so much time from us already, we can’t waste a second.”

 

“You need to understand and accept the fact that I killed people without remorse. You need to face those facts. You need to understand what I did. You can’t be in denial forever. You’ll run out of alcohol.”

 

“I need to be near you, we can’t waste a second.”

 

…

 

“I want you. I need you.”

 

He sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that these days.

 

“Please. Please love me. Please, like old times. I need it.”

 

He was silent. You nearly sobbed in response.

 

“Please?”

 

He didn’t reply.

 

“Please, please, I’d be willing to do anything with you, please, if you won’t touch me like you used to, will you please, just dance with me? Like when we met?”

 

He seemed to consider it. He stood and extended a hand to you.

 

“Thank you, oh, thank you, I love you so much, thank you thank you thank you.” You grasped his hand and he began to repeat the steps from when you first met him, first fell in love with him.

 

“We used to be the best dancers, you know,” you told him as you swayed. “The things we pulled were daring and dangerous and scandalous and beautiful. Everyone would stare at us. We had the attention of the whole room. And with good reason. We were beautiful together. Perfect.”

 

He was moving you back and forth gently, now. There was no frantic and passionate love hidden beneath the moves. It was just swaying. A drunk girl in denial and a disgraced prince humoring her.

 

“We never danced like this before,” you whispered. He knew what you meant.

 

“We’re not going to talk about it.”

 

The swaying was resigned. Depressed. Empty.

 

…

 

“It’s so cold in here,” you said. “Are you sure you’re comfortable?”

 

“I guarantee you, my dear, this temperature is nothing to me.” He was smirking. He knew something you didn’t know or something you chose to remember.

 

“Oh. I guess it’s just me.”

 

“Perhaps it would be warmer if you left here. If you moved on. If you returned to the outside world.”

 

“No,” you said. “It’s colder out there, don’t you see? In here, I have you. And I’m warm. And it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

 

“I think that’s just the alcohol,” he said, smiling sarcastically.

 

“No. No, it’s you. When I’m away from you, I’m so cold. I hurt so bad. I hurt so bad that I wanna throw up. I hurt so bad I can’t do anything. All I can do is lay down and cry and want to die. All I can feel is how bad it hurts.”

 

He looked sad and very, very tired suddenly. He was concerned.

 

“But that’s okay. If I never leave here, I’ll never feel like that.”

 

For some reason, that made him look more upset.

 

…

 

“They won’t let me go.”

 

“I can ask,” you snapped. You paled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my love, I didn’t mean to yell at you, I know you’re probably under a lot of stress right now. I’m sorry.”

 

He sighed. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“I’m trying to find us a way out of here.”

 

“You  _ have _ a way out of here. You can leave any time.  _ I’m _ the one in prison.”

 

“I need to find us a way out of here.”

 

…

 

You had been trying to talk to him for the past hour. He didn’t react to anything you said.

 

“I want you by my side,” you told him, suddenly, desperately.

 

“I want you by my side, too,” he responded, quietly, gently.

 

“Then what’s the problem? Why can’t I have you? I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t. Why do you need me to move on? I’m perfectly happy like this. I’m happy here. I’m happy with you.”

 

He went back to simply not reacting and you cried.

 

…

 

You danced with him. For hours. Just like old times. Just relishing being near him.

 

“Why won’t you leave me?”

 

“Why do you want me to? Don’t you love me?”

 

His grip tightened on your waist.

 

“Of course I love you. I always have and I always will. But can’t you see that you are destroying yourself for something that is simply not worth it? For  _ someone _ who is simply not worth it?”

 

“I’m not destroying myself. You are worth it.”

 

“I’m doing this to protect you. No matter what you think of me, no matter how hard you believe, I will always be stuck in here and I will always be a bad person.”

 

“No,” you whispered.

 

“Yes. Yes I will. I am ambitious and terrible and I am telling you right now that this is not going to change. I have learned nothing from my mistakes. I’m telling you that if and when I get out, I will do everything in my power to take control over Asgard. I was born to be a king and I am not going to give up my birthright. Not for you. Not for anyone. I am far too selfish not to.”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh yes. Take pleasure, my love, in knowing that you will be the only person to ever know that. Everyone else will know how sorry I am. How much I regret killing people.”

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

“So you can understand. My actions were my own. I do not regret them. My punisment is justified. You are wasting your time here with me.  _ Move. On. _ ”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I love you, and it hurts me to see you hurt. I’m a lost cause. Leave.”

 

You pulled out of his arms. Violently. Tearfully. 

 

Your illusion left him and he sighed with relief. 

 

He realized he would most likely never see you again and he almost broke down. But he didn’t. He was too dignified for that.

 

When you came back, smelling like something he had smelled on your friends from Midgard years ago, he did break down.

 

“Why won’t you leave me? Why won’t you move on? Why won’t you allow yourself the possiblility of happiness?”

 

“I am happy,” you told him, your eyes red and your pulpils dialited. “This is paradise.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I want you. You and I, we used to be the best dancers.”

 

“Now we’re not.”

 

“We don’t dance like we used to, now. We could. But we don’t talk about it. You ignore it. You know what it means, but we don’t talk about it.”

 

“What do you want to do? To dance, just like we used to? Like nothing has changed? Like I’m not a vicious war criminal in prison for heinous crimes against both your species and mine? Both my apparent one and my real one? Just dance on? All night long, just ignoring everything that has happened? People change. Things change. Life changes everything. You can’t just dance away your problems. You can’t just get high every time a major change happens to avoid dealing with it. You’ll have to face it eventually. You’ll come down off your high at some point. You’ll run out of pot. I am a bad person. This isn’t paradise. If this was paradise, you wouldn’t have to get high, would you? It would be paradise. You wouldn’t need drugs to get happy or relaxed. There wouldn’t be major, life-ruining changes or depression or having to face facts that you are in love with a bad person. But this isn’t paradise. And I am a terrible person. And you will have to face that eventually. And I am trying to help you through this. Really, I am. But I can’t help you if you won’t leave. If you stay taking substances that push you further and further into denial. When you sober up, it will hurt even more. Go. Now. This is easiest, least painful way to do this. And I know it hurts, but you are hurting now and you’re hurting me now. This way, you’ll stop hurting soon, I promise.”

 

You stared blankly at him while he tried to smile reassuringly.

 

“It will be like ripping off a band-aid,” he said. “I promise.”

 

You were silent for a few seconds.

 

“We shouldn’t talk about it,” you said.

 

You offered him your hand. He sighed and accepted it. You swayed with him again.

 

“You know--” He started, but you interrupted him.

 

“We shouldn’t talk about it.”

 

After a full, pregnant minute of quiet, he slowly said, “Okay. We shouldn’t talk about it.”


End file.
